


Missing

by triniharteyes



Category: Power Rangers, Power Rangers (2017)
Genre: F/F, Light Angst, One Shot, Short One Shot, honestly idk what to tag this, mystery I guess, trini went missing a year ago
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:40:52
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,406
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27658976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triniharteyes/pseuds/triniharteyes
Summary: The first person Kimberly Hart sees in the morning is Trini Gomez.Every day, their eyes meet as she opens the fridge door. Trini’s made of cardboard and leaking ink, Kim’s puffy and restless.That senior year photo is how most people knew Trini. Printed over and over again, a fresh, new headline each time. A small town like Angel Grove didn’t react mildly to one of their own kids going missing.
Relationships: Kimberly Hart & Trini, Kimberly Hart/Trini
Comments: 10
Kudos: 61





	Missing

**Author's Note:**

> Ahh honestly this was just an attempt to get out of my writing slump while also trying a new style. Hope you guys enjoy!

The first person Kimberly Hart sees in the morning is Trini Gomez. 

Every day, their eyes meet as she opens the fridge door. Trini’s made of cardboard and leaking ink, Kim’s puffy and restless. 

She grabs the carton of milk, her palm covering the words **_missing._ **Tipping it over her coffee the last remaining drops sputter out, leaving the dark brown spool of her energy source only a fraction lighter in hue. 

The container is tossed to the sink, landing on its side. The lifeless eyes of the girl printed on it are reflected on the steel, following Kimberly and the cup of coffee as they leave. 

They watch her even when she’s long gone, entering the grey, gloomy living room instead. 

Only now, there are over a hundred pairs of eyes on her, watching her from every corner of the room. They watch as she sits down, as she sets her coffee down; covering one pair of the stalking eyes in the process. 

The cup leaves a stain, a ring around the bleak eyes of the missing girl. It’s quick to start shriveling, the newsprint never having been the strongest. 

There are countless victims of this around the table, the heap of newspapers scattered across the wood with smears of coffee staining them, the room never quite warm enough to leave them anything but damp. 

The survivors could merely watch. Most of them from the stack of newspapers that were littered across the room. Some from the floor where they’d been used to soak up the rain that had crept its way down during a particularly bad storm. And a few unlucky ones, where a bottle of vodka had spilled over, had the misfortune of being stripped away of their words as the ink mixed with the alcohol and bled. 

All of them though, bore the same pair of eyes. That one photo, taken senior year. It was the most recent picture they had of Trini Gomez and she’d been wearing a yellow and black shirt. The same shirt she’d worn just a few months later, the last day anybody saw her. 

A few other photos had been circulating; her mother had released as many as she could in an attempt to make sure anyone would recognize her missing daughter, wherever she was.

A futile attempt, it later seemed. 

That senior year photo is how most people knew Trini, though. Printed over and over again, a fresh, new headline each time. A small town like Angel Grove didn’t react mildly to one of their own kids going missing. 

Anytime new evidence was brought to light, the town would go into a whole new frenzy. 

After the first day she had been reported missing, a torn piece of yellow fabric had been found by the edges of the wood. It matched the school groundskeeper’s description of Trini, one of the last people to see the girl.

Mrs Gomez and her husband had gone door to door, handing out flyers with their daughters' photo on them and encouraging their neighbors to be on the lookout. The police had released the same photo with a description and by the end of the week, there were patrols out every night. 

Friends, families, and the whole community came together to search every inch of their town. 

Eventually, they found her grey beanie too. There was a small glimmer of hope. They used it to track her, the police dogs following the scent all the way from the small alley behind the pawnshop where it was found, to the depths of the woods where the trail suddenly ended. It had gone cold and the beanie was no longer useful, merely left in a bag in the evidence room of Angel Grove Police Department. 

By the sixth month, the town grew restless. If she hadn’t been found by now, it was too late and maybe it was time to move on. Accept that she wasn’t going to be found and start healing. 

With the trail cold and no new clues, the police had closed the case. 

Mrs Gomez however, wasn’t quite ready to give up yet. And she never really would. 

Her number was open for anyone to call, anyone that had even an ounce of information about her only daughter. 

Following the weeks after the case was declared closed, there was a steady stream of calls. Some were bored teens, prank calling a hopeful mother. Her husband would take over, grabbing the phone and berating whichever group of kids that had called that week. His grief never quite left the anger stage. 

Some called to say that they had seen Trini in town, at a bus station heading East. The junkyard next to the interstate. The little diner just outside of Angel Grove. 

They would call and call and every time, Mrs Gomez would have faith that this was finally the day her daughter would come home. 

But then they’d say something. Something that let her know it couldn’t have been her daughter. 

A scar on the arm she didn’t have. A mole on the left of her lip. Never quite the right height. 

She’d sigh, thank them and hang up. 

A small part of her had given up, the calls now only serving as a way to keep the memory of her daughter alive. To be reminded that people were still looking for her. 

But eventually, the calls became less frequent, newspapers stopped printing articles about her and Trini became something they rarely talked about. Instead, hanging over the town as a glum reminder of what they had lost. 

One night, after two months of silence and despair, Mrs Gomez’s phone rang. A man had found a necklace, hidden in the acres of his farm, close to where Trini’s trail had ended. It didn’t take long to realize it was her daughters; the description matching perfectly to the necklace her own mother, Trini’s grandmother, had given the girl for her quinceañera. 

By the next day, she had it in her hand. 

Despite the new evidence, police weren’t able to get any closer to Trini using it. And so, Mrs Gomez had kept it. And every night without fail, when she had put the boys to bed and her husband was fast asleep, she’d make her way downstairs. She’d go to the armchair in the living room, the one facing the window. With the chain of the necklace wrapped around her hand, intertwined with her own cross, she’d look up at the moon and she would pray. Pray that wherever her daughter was, she was safe. She was sound. And she was coming home soon. 

\---

Kimberly’s hand crept its way through the masses of newspaper articles, trying to find the remote buried in them. She turned on the TV, the local news channel coming on immediately much like it had been for the past year. She had become all too familiar with the newscaster, seeing his face whenever any new evidence was brought to light. 

She lifted the cup, bringing the coffee to her lips, and sipped as she listened to the broadcast. 

“… _today marks one year since the disappearance of Trini Gomez. Mourners gather at Angel Grove High School to remember the 17-year-old and pray for her reappearance. There have been no new developments in the case as of March of last year but police are urging anyone that has information about the whereabouts of the high school student to come forward immediately…”_

She turned the volume down, hearing footsteps come down the hall and before long, a pair of arms were wrapping themselves around her, “Hey babe.” The girl sat on the armrest of the couch, sneaking her fingers through Kimberly’s that were wrapped around the cup of coffee, and brought the drink to her own lips. She took a sip, immediately wincing at the bitterness. 

She slumped down next to Kimberly who fell back too, resting her back against the couch and draping an arm around the girl. She mumbled a quiet “good morning” as she pressed her lips against her, both of them tasting the slight roast of coffee in each other. 

And for the first time that morning, instead of having a hundred pairs of the printed eyes of Trini Gomez watching her every move, Kimberly Hart had the real thing looking right back at her. 

“Can you believe it’s been a year already?” Trini said. 

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> Let me know what you guys think!! <333


End file.
